


Adventures of C4S11

by Aiyaa



Category: Homestuck
Genre: C4S11, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 15:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11762709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiyaa/pseuds/Aiyaa
Summary: A collection of stories detailing characters in Campaign 4, Session 11 in RPGStuck. Mostly AUs, but in-session content may be added later.





	Adventures of C4S11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Eihwaz gains the paragon of posterior attractiveness? How will everyone react? Will Wally finally get some of that delicious booty? Only one way to find out.
> 
> House!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this should not have taken 6 months but it did
> 
> happy late birthday btw jeck, sorry for not uploading this in time

**_5:30_ **

The larger lowblood swings his claymore down at you, but you dodge to the right, leaving his sword lodged in the ground. Not losing the opening this provides you, you deliver a swift kick to his shins. He loses his footing and falls to the ground with a yelp. You lunge forward and drive a dagger through his ribs.

And another.

And another.

He really should have picked a better weapon to use than a claymore. So inefficient when fighting lithe combatants. Yet, a part of you is relieved that you weren’t hit; that would have been the end of you. 

“It’s useless, you know. There’s no fighting the Alternian–” 

You begin your customary spiel about the futility of resistance against the Alternian Empire and the demand of absolute submission. _Certain_ _others_ have made jabs at you that the speech kills people before your weapons do. While you do nothing to deny such comments, you do take pride in your knifework. However, upon taking a look down for a second, you find that the wounded lowblood is gone. Instead, you find an unwounded one infinitely more annoying to combat. 

She is lounging before you, with that _grub-eating smirk_ on her face, blowing some human chewing gum. In response, you raise your knife and prepare a strict tongue-lashing. Even though the limeblood was more of a vigilante, she should know better than to get in the way of officially sanctioned executions.  

“Be careful, Mengele, you might cut even _me_ with that edge of yours,” she says before you can open your mouth.

You’re ready to bite back, but before you can do even _that_ , a pair of arms wraps around your torso from behind and you jerk viscerally. They proceed to give a squeeze at your pectorals. To top it off, a giggle escapes the mouth of the offender.

You don’t even need to guess who that is.

Meanwhile, you hear what can only be described as audio from a torture chamber converted into a MIDI file. Indeed, the rambunctious pissant of a human is standing on top of a mountain having a seizure over his electric string instrument. His playing lapses and he looks down at you, laughing maniacally. 

“EIHWAZ, YOU ARE CRAZY! WHERE DID YOUR DIGNITY AND PRIDE GO?” he yells down at you. 

Positively seething by this point, you close your eyes, then proceed to count down from 10… 

 **Get up. [x]  
** **Put alarm on snooze.  
** **Break the phone.**

...and open them to a familiar ceiling. 

A dazed hand immediately shoots out to silence the phone before it causes more of a ruckus. 

You, the owner of said hand, get out of bed with practiced ease and prepare yourself for the day. Equip casual dress (but not _too_ casual), perform basic hygiene, prepare sustenance, and exit the hive to attend educational instruction. A basic morning; it’s all in the routine, day in and day out. 

Perhaps once upon a time you would have found many of these institutions foreign; the means of hygiene and of sustenance were much different on Alternia. Back there, one could clear the mouth with a diluted acid bath instead of this strange “toothpaste” substance, or this pale mockery called “mouthwash” (you refuse to admit that you use it anyway). And of the grub, you find yourself missing the thrill of methodically eliminating prey to provide nourishment (only that _barbarian_ would call it “hunting”). 

Yet, you suppose things could be worse. Though the hygiene was certainly inferior, it still did the  job well enough that any additional maintenance was minimal. And though the humans could get to never enjoy the taste of slaughtered behemoth with coagulated grub sauce, you’ve found yourself curious to try their different cuisines and practices. Perhaps you’re too gullible sometimes, though (you will _never_ listen to that _plebeian_ again about spicy food). 

The company certainly was... something. With six other hivemates, you would have expected the place to burn down on the first day (especially with that _rascal_ and his constant “jamming”). Yet, somehow, things managed to work themselves out, and a stable habitation was established in little time. There were difficulties occasionally, like that positive _debacle_ of a boxing day (who would have thought that it ended up being the _trickster_ that reprimanded everyone). Much to your chagrin, you are still unable to suppress the embarrassment of running around the town naked and with an unconcealed weapon. You have a feeling that by the end, nobody really enjoyed that day (except that damned lowblood). Thankfully, there were some stability to the whole group dynamic (and no, you’re not at all irritated that the _lioness_ forbid you from harassing lowbloods). 

This is of course not factoring in the sole, unilaterally displeasing factor of your experience in SBURB; that damned _incubus_ . You still feel some humiliation about him seeing your scars (what was with that _pity_ , you’ve always had them). Each new day provides a new zany scheme and a headache; regrettably, you’ve begun to consider it part of your routine.  

 **Check nearby rooms to see if anyone’s awake.  
** **Go downstairs. [x]  
** **Burn down the house.**

With those thoughts in mind, you head downstairs to prepare your usual “breakfast”.

Your name is Eihwaz Fosite, and you think you have your day figured out. Though you don’t know it yet, you’re about to find out how wrong you are.

 

* * *

 

**_5:40_ **

The first sign that your day was going to be a bizarre one was seeing Zyonne at the kitchen table. Usually it’s Arya, or even _Todd_ you see first. It is apparently expected of adults to be responsible in human culture; such responsibilities include waking up earlier than others to prepare for professional occupations. However, the only occupation Zyonne had around this time usually was running for obscene distances; she usually didn’t get back until 7:00, usually. Even more strangely, Zyonne is dressed for school already, with little signs of recent physical exertion.

 **Ignore the limeblood.  
** **Seduce her.  
** **Strike up a conversation. [x]**

“What are you doing at this hour.”

Zyonne looks up boredly. “Yo. I got done with my run early and decided to get ready for school in the meantime. I guess Arya’s lectures are getting to me.” She melodramatically blows at a tuft of hair on her forehead. What is she, an “anime” character? “So, Stooge McGrumpygrub, you going to make breakfast?” Her question is punctuated with a certain _glint_ in her eye.

“Yes, in fact. I am,” you reply stiffly. Your hand twitches towards withdrawing a dagger from your _strife specibus_ in reply, but you decide against it. It’s too early to take umbrage. Perhaps on another world, they would have been fighting already; for many Alternians, banter and combat go hand in hand. As evidenced by your dream earlier, you do long for simpler times and miss having a quiet life left undisturbed by degenerates. Yet, you also suppose it is better to be on a different world than on a dead one. Even if it meant “playing nice”.

As you set your school supplies down and set down your apparatus vessel (“backpack” sounds too much like the lowblood plebeian word) and turn to the kitchen to prepare the usual morsel, you swear you hear Zyonne’s voice in a faint whisper.

_Ooh, la la_

**Continue cooking  
** **Turn around to see what’s wrong. [x]  
****Call the police.**  

You turn and she’s quiet, twiddling her fingers and pretending to look preoccupied. Shrugging, you choose to turn around and return to cooking, not thinking much of it. As far as trolls go, Zyonne was a strange one anyway. You figure that not much harm would come of her anyway, especially since you declined her _invitation_. However, you can feel her eyes burrowing intently into you the moment you turn back to cooking, and perhaps if your observation skills were better you would have noticed the lime sheen on her cheeks.

You shrug and continue making breakfast. The usual fare of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. You cook some sausage here and tomatoes there, and prepare soup and fruit for people who’d like a lighter breakfast.

A little while later, you hear a snicker from Zyonne. Turning, you see her fiddling with her _mobile telecommunications device_ , probably looking at some _“meme”_ she found (those are going to be the death of you). You shrug and continue cooking.

 

* * *

 

**_6:30_ **

At this point, breakfast has been prepared and you’ve finished cleaning up the kitchen. Of course Zyonne has no consideration for the latter (or probably even the former) and just grabs some of her food right out of the frying pan immediately. That aside, you are internally a bit proud of the turnout of the breakfast. It’s a satisfying process; everything has an order and needs to be executed carefully to create the proper outcome. And no, you totally aren’t projecting your love for bureaucracy onto the culinary arts.

As you finish that line of thought, Alex stumbles into the kitchen. Dressed in some mismatched pajamas, and having a groggy aura about him, he yawns lazily. Typical. Alex rubs his eyes and clears out his glasses, then greets you. “Morning, you two.”

You respond with a terse nod, while Zyonne approaches him and slings her arm around his shoulder. “Hey, buddy~ Let me ask you some _questions_ about the homework last night…” Her grip on his shoulder visibly tightens. Alex looks to you with a plea for help in his eye, whimpering.

 **Help Alex.  
** **Leave the plebeian to his fate! [x]  
****Toss something at Zyonne.**  

An altruistic character might have chosen to intervene, or even just give Zyonne a small  distraction. Yet, you are not someone well known for such altruism. Despite this though, there are some in this house that you give a grudging smidgen of respect to, and would likely lend a hand to if necessary. Alex was not in this category.

As a result, you leave him to his fate and continue your previous task.

 

* * *

 

**_7:00_ **

Washing dishes is a calming task, really. Beyond the pleasure gained from eliminating filth in some form, it is aesthetically pleasing. It is not focus-heavy like cooking, but it has its own inherent satisfaction. From a lonely plate to an arsenal of consumption vessels, the satisfaction gained does not change. It stays at a happy medium; not dipping into drabness, yet not overly stimulating. Though there is the option to automate this task, you feel that it detracts from the noble meditation associated with the manually done action. From getting the right amount of soap onto the sponge to watching water flow off the concaved surface, it is truly an–

A sharp _crack_ from a broken plate invades your world, and your concentration is shattered similarly. Extremely displeased, you turn around and see Alex standing before you, broken plate at his feet with utensils scattered around (thankfully he at least finished his food). He looks like an utter moron, with his face flushed and mouth agape.

“Merton, what’s wrong with you? Are you _daft_?!”

On his part, he can really only stutter. “S-sorry, I u-uh…” You strongly resist the urge to slap him across the face.

 **Actually slap him.  
** **Find a way to blame Olki for this.  
** **Tell him off and leave it at that. [x]**

“I’m not interested in what you have to say. Just clean up your mess and be gone.”

 

* * *

 

**_7:05_ **

Though Alex was shaking the whole time, he successfully cleaned up the mess. Something odd you noticed was that when he thought you weren’t looking, he sneaked a few glances over at you. You’d describe them as three parts hunger and one part terror. Though you understand (and encourage) the latter, you are confounded by the former. Did he not just eat breakfast? Since no harm came of it, you simply forget about it.

As you finish your musings, you hear a loud noise that you’d immediately describe as “crashing diamonds” (whatever that means) punctuated by a loud “ **HOLY SHIT!”** You spend approximately a nanosecond guessing who that is before coming to the conclusion that it was the same imbecile yelling about dignity and pride in your dream.

You lean back against the sink as a headache begins to settle in. You remember that you have the _other two_ degenerates to deal with in the morning, on top of the current two. Arya and Todd (mostly the former) were better at handling themselves, so you group them in the separate category of “idiots”.

“Hey, Eihwaz.”

! 

A copper-haired, copper-eyed fox of a man leans beside you, with a small smirk on his face. You then realize that the window was open, when it wasn’t before. How he snuck on such short notice without being noticed puzzles you.

 **Be alarmed but receive Todd in a relatively respectful manner.  
** **Be alarmed but receive Todd in a relatively respectful manner. [x]  
** **Be alarmed but receive Todd in a relatively respectful manner.**

“Todd, how did you even get there? In any case, good morning.”

“A magician never reveals his tricks, my friend.” He punctuates the statement with a bow. “In any case, I came by to drop a message from Arya. She’s not feeling well, so she’s staying behind today. Don’t worry about clearing the table after breakfast, she’ll take care of it.”

You visibly cringe at the thought of your beautiful food being left to the unsupervised devices of Olki Lange, Wally Jones, and Zyonne Vasant.

“I can handle the others, since it doesn’t look like you’re up to it today.” Are you ever? “Feel free to head to school early today, if you so desire.”

You nod in affirmation. “Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

**_12:00_ **

Something you find fairly unnerving and bizarre about school (school? You make a mental note to purge more plebeian vocabulary later) is the type of attention you’re receiving today. Normally, you are comfortably unremarkable and can go throughout your day without being bothered by others. Only the minimum amount of acknowledgement is given by anyone else but your hivemates. You could probably die publically and no one would bat an eye. Yet, today most people cease their conversations and become silent as you pass by, turning their focus to you. You feel no less than a hundred pairs of eyes on your backside as you go to the physics classroom for midday nourishment.

Upon entering, you see Olki trying to get a grade raise from the teacher on the recent exam. You shrug, take a seat, and watch the fireworks.

 

* * *

 

**12:05**

“It was a 69.82! What bullshit is this? I am **angery** , Eihwaz. **ANGERY!** ” Unfortunately for Olki, but fortunately for your amusement, his grade ended up getting rounded down as a result of his efforts at persuasion.

“I can still hear you in case if you want me to round down your score again,” the teacher calls out. Olki swears under his breath.

“Your academic ineptitude aside, I have a question.”

“Go ahead.” He seems somewhat vexed that you brushed aside his troubles as if they were nothing (because they were), but humors you anyway.

“I’ve been getting a lot of weird stares today. Is it something on my back?” You get up and turn your back to him. “Is there something strange?”

To your bewilderment, Olki suddenly becomes very awkward. He has a blush dusting his cheeks and tries looking away. Is he sick or something?

“Well, uh…” He rubs the back of his head and still refuses to look at you.

“Answer me, Olki. _Is there something strange?_ ”

“I don’t really know how I can answer that…”

“Yes. Or no. Is your vocabulary as impaired as your musical skill?!”

He finally looks back up at you with a surprised expression. Or, a more surprised one than what he previously had.

“Uh, Eihwaz, look out… The model airplane is falling down. On top of your head.”

You sneer. “Nice try Lange, that’s the oldest trick in the–”

 

* * *

 

**_14:30_ **

You open your eyes to a ceiling that is decidedly unfamiliar. Your awakening is accompanied by a dull ache towards the top and back of your head. Olki is sitting by you, with a slightly concerned expression on his face. “Feeling alright? You’ve been out for over two hours…”

“...What hit me?”

“A model airplane that got dislodged from the ceiling in the physics room.” He notices your brooding look. “Hey, look dude, I tried to warn you.”

“By the way, what was on my back? You never answered that.” You’re still not quite sure what caused the normally bolder human to clam up like that.

“O-oh hey, would you look at the time? School happens to be out now, see you at home!” He gets up to leave and waves on his way out.

“Olki Lange, get back here! You ingrate, are you even listening?!”

 

* * *

 

**_15:00_ **

You cautiously walk back to your hive. What happened back at school put you on edge. Why did Olki clam up out of nowhere? Why was everyone paying attention to you today? What about a normally unremarkable troll piques the interest of every passerby this specific day? These apprehensions put you in a wary mood towards all bystanders. Your suspicions turn out to hold water, as you feel a leer from every passerby. Curiously, it seems to only happen when your backside is in view. Nonetheless, you pick up your pace and prepare yourself to draw your strife specibus; there seems to be a growing crowd of people following you.

Your focus towards monitoring and trying to elude the masses behind you blindside you in all other directions, however. As such, you’re late to noticing an arm being slung around your right shoulder, carrying some kind of fabric. Upon looking towards your left, you meet a pair of cheeky copper eyes.

_strangerdangerstrangerdangerstrangerdanger_

**Stab Todd. [x]  
** **Stab Todd.  
** **Stab Todd.**

In a knee-jerk reaction, a dagger swings towards Todd, which is then deflected...by a puppet hand? (Why would he even have something like that on hand? You decide that it’s useless to question that man’s logic.)

He does an acrobatic fucking pirouette backwards, probably to avoid running the risk of actually getting stabbed. Still pretty “extra”, if you do say so yourself. He holds up his hands in either surrender or as a sign of peace (really, is there a difference?)

“Whoa, there. I can take a hit or two, but I’d rather be on the end of a sharp wit than a sharp dagger.” Only he would deliver the proverbial olive branch by means of a pun.

“Cut the tomfoolery. What do you want?”

“I saw you were having a bit of trouble over there.” His eyes briefly dart in the direction of the crowd following you; it is still present, but somewhat diminished after Todd’s arrival.

“By the way, what did you put on me?”

“A cape! Didn’t you get the memo?” He punctuates his question with a nigh predatory glint in his eyes (this reinforces your belief that there is no such thing as true altruism in the world).

“Follow me to the amphitheater. By the way, I recommend keeping that cape on, for your own peace of mind.”

 

* * *

 

**17:00**

There have been many better things to do than be deputized by Todd Connor into acting in a play (as a _substitute_ nonetheless). Yet, you are pleasantly surprised by how the crowd dispersed. Perhaps it had to do something with wearing the cape. Despite your work as a substitute actor being over, you decide to keep the cape on (for continued peace of mind if nothing else).

As you approach the hive though, you feel something rustling in the bushes besides you. Turning around, suspicious that people may have begun following you again, you see no one. However, once you turn your head back forwards, you _feel_ something dart out behind you, giving your buttocks a firm squeeze through your cape ( _“Finally you’re alone,”_ you hear faintly).

Only two members of this hive are brazen and idiotic enough to assault you. And only one has the suicidal courage to do so straight up. As if to reinforce your hunch, a very recognizable cackle reaches your ears.

“Totally worth it.”

Teal meets lime, and you see red.

 

* * *

 

**_17:30_ **

You return home, exhausted from the day’s ordeals. Tossing off your shoes at the front, you head into the living room to find Arya comfortably nestled in a recliner, reading a book and sipping tea from a mug labeled “#1 Dad”. She is wearing a loose woolen sweater with her initials on it, and her lower half is covered by a blanket. You note with surprise that this is contrasts with her normal aesthetic to an absurd degree. Arya waves at you.

 **Ignore Arya.  
** **Crack open a cold one with the Ice Queen.  
** **Comment on her attire. [x]**

“How often do you dress like this?” You’re accustomed to seeing her dressed in sharper clothes; you’ve come to expect blazers, coats, skirts, trousers, dresses, and the like. The closest she comes to casual is “business casual” ( _so fucking extra_ , you recall Zyonne whispering one day). She adopts looser clothes when exercising, but hardly wears those around the house like this.

“You’d see if you get out of your room more,” she retorts. While you two did go on outings every so often, both as part of a larger group and on an individual basis (you can blame Alex and Olki getting intoxicated in the city for the latter), you really don’t go outside of your habitation to interact with others much.

You shrug. She’s not incorrect. However, any thought of future excursions is quashed by memories of the past day. A small grimace flickers across your face.

“Something wrong? ” Arya, though slightly more expressive than a bar of soap, was definitely one of the more perceptive hivemates.

“Let me try something.” Everybody today acted normal, until they saw something on your backside. And if your very academic knowledge of carnal matters serves correctly...

You turn around and bend over to show Arya your (fully clothed) posterior. For good measure, you give it a wiggle or two, then proceed to turn back around. The practice is humiliating for you, but you’re used to going all-in to test hypotheses. Also, it’s not like you have much dignity and pride left after today.

…

You really have no idea what to think of the sight in front of you. The normally composed young woman is fidgeting in the recliner, flustered like a young female student on her first courtship outing. Her face is flushed with what seems to be a mixture of embarrassment and sexual arousal. If you were a lesser being, you might have thought of her countenance as “cute”, especially when compared to her normal disposition. However, you’re really just slightly disappointed.

 **Follow up with your inquiry. [x]  
** **Leave immediately and hide inside your room; even Arya is thirsty!  
** **Give her a lapdance!**

“Really? _Really?_ Even you? Out of everyone in this wretched hive, I expect dignity and restraint from at least _you_ . But you’re _just_ like the others.” Your voice is dripping with more venom than intended, which you admit is undeserved. Especially since Arya really had no control over this scenario. You figure that leftover frustration from the day channeled into your current line of conversation. You blame most of said frustration on your encounter with Zyonne earlier. “You will tell me now, _are you sexually attracted to my posterior?_ ”

“Eihwaz, I don’t know _what_ happened to you today, but this behavior is totally uncalled for,” Arya snaps. She then bites her lower lip and looks away, as if hesitating on something _._ “And also… yes.  Satisfied?"She is definitely somewhat upset with how you set her up to be humiliated and proceeded to berate her, to say in the least. Yet, she still humors you with an answer. You can respect her for at least that.  “It was mean of you to put me in a corner like that,” she continues.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Apology accepted. ” She frowns and doesn’t seem to be very pleased at all with your flippant apology, but doesn’t push the issue. You attribute her more lax attitude to her illness today. Simple judgement is preferable to a trademarked death glare.

“All the others reacted very strangely today too, it wasn’t just you.” Zyonne, Alex, Olki, Todd, Arya, and....

Oh no.

“Arya, I’m headed back to my room right now, don’t expect me for dinner tonight. Thanks for your input.” A hint of panic sneaks into your voice.

Though Arya’s frown deepens in further disapproval, she seems to pick up the hint fairly quickly. As you turn around, you swear you see the phantom of a smirk on her face.

You can feel her eyes on your backside until you’re out of sight.

 

* * *

 

**19:40**

As you try to stealthily enter your room as quickly as possible, you see _it_ _him_.

“ _Shit_ ,” you cover your mouth as soon as the swear escapes it, though it really doesn’t do you any good at that point.

“Oh? Hey, Eihwaz.”

You inch across the walls, careful not to expose a single planck length of backside. You keep your eyes intently on him the whole time, watching his hands for signs of shadow puppetry majyx.

“Why are you acting so funny right now? I mean, you always act kinda funny, but I don’t get what’s so different with today.”

 **Answer his question.  
** **Abscond!  
** **Try to play it off. [x]**

“You are seeing _nothing_ right now. Eihwaz Fosite is not here. This is a figment of your imagination. Now leave and continue with your human activities.” You ignore his comment entirely.

“What’s wrong? Are you hiding something?” Wally cocks his head slightly to check for any contraband you may possess. You shift your body to avoid his prying eyes.

“If you value your life up to this point, _do not_ look behind me.” You begin to think about prime places to stab him in his current positioning.

As you settle into a comfortable pattern of inching across the wall, plotting Wally’s death, and hiding your behind from him, shock erupts through your body as it is flung forwards. As you land, you feel your vulnerable buttocks pointing skyward for all to see. Alex stands above you, rubbing his eyes. He seems mostly confused, though he becomes heavily flushed upon seeing you. You grudgingly surmise that you inched in front of his door as he was about to open it.

Once the shock clears out, dread takes its place. You look up at Wally and begin to resign yourself to the hell awaiting you.

“What?” Yet, he seems to have no clue of what’s going on.

Now, it’s your turn to be confused.

“Wait, so my posterior doesn’t incite especially sexual urges in you today, like with everyone else?”

“Oh, I already knew of that since the morning. Zyonne tipped me off and sent a few pictures.” You make a mental note to stab her later. “But that’s not quite it. I didn’t feel an urge to tap your ass more than I normally do.”

 **…  
** **…  
** **… [x]**

You’re at a loss for words.

Bit by increasing bit, you feel frustration growing inside you at an exponential rate. A day’s weariness and loss of face combined with this B-rated comedy of a situation causes your internal sodium levels to go haywire. Though you try restraining yourself to the best of your ability, you feel a mental switch turn off.

 

* * *

 

**_19:45_ **

“...Any troll should have responded with immediate retaliation. A literal eye for a literal eye makes our empire wide, they would say. But not the Signless! Such an action would be means for a blood feud. Any troll would be allowed, and even encouraged to form vendettas! But not the Signless! Disgusted with the decadence and violence infecting troll society, he would instead–”

The sermon is cut off by a _very long_ and _very loud_ stream of expletives.

The congregation sits in ponderous silence, before one member dares to raise their voice.

“Master...was that the second coming of the Signless?”

And for once, the Master was without words.


End file.
